


There Comes You

by ShadowsLament



Series: the Restoration verse [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-05-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsLament/pseuds/ShadowsLament
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter with one of Tony’s former acquaintances leads to several revelations.</p><p>[Now with Clint, Natasha and Thor "Grabbing a Bite"]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Birdy's “[Just A Game](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kASAzpHiLCw)." This fic fought me hard until I put that song on repeat.
> 
> This takes place some time between [In Sunlight and Shadow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/324800/chapters/523398) and [Desperate For Grace](http://archiveofourown.org/works/364890).

“Hey? Steve?” Intent on the reflection in Steve’s mirrored aviator lenses, Tony asked, “Remember those mistakes I was talking about? That time? One of them is coming up behind me. Should I apol—“

“Tony Stark.” The man’s eyes, dark like a midnight sky bereft of stars, shifted from Tony to Steve. His gaze raked through the crescent curl of hair that cut across the smooth expanse of Steve’s forehead; slid down the strong line of his nose to catch on the bow of his lips. “And this, this must be your latest fuck buddy.”

Steve’s brow arched over the rim of his glasses.

“Love of my life, actually,” Tony said, the words like breath: produced without pause or thought. “Steve, this is--Well, this is embarrassing.” Propping his elbow on the table, Tony toyed with the tines of a fork, capitalizing on the pregnant moment to dam the impotent anger rising like a tide in his chest; he cast the lie left in its wake out, breaking his silence. “It seems I’ve discarded your name. Would you?”

The man shrugged; an easy, elegant roll of his shoulders. “Temp. Templeto--“

“Temp? You must be—No, you really aren’t. Kidding. That’s just.” Tony cocked his head, smiled. “Prophetic.”

“You haven’t changed, I see.” Temp sunk his hands in the pockets of tailored wool trousers. “Nor has your material.”

“Have I said that before? I’m sure I haven’t, because it would be redundant, wouldn’t it, to say it again, now, and I am categorically opposed to repetition. It’s a general principle thing,” Tony said. “Which would account for our--What was it? One night stand?”

“A month.” The corner of Temp’s grin flirted with malice. “Then, like the bitch you are, you tucked tail and ran.” Shifting his focus to Steve, he continued, “Tony here talks a big game, but fuck him too hard and his sensibilities show.” Temp pulled a hand free of his pocket and brought it up to Steve’s hair, pushing the curl back with a quick, adept sweep of manicured fingertips. “Something to keep in mind--Steve, wasn’t it?” 

Slight muscles in Tony’s jaw tightened. The lines of his face shifted, settled into the flat landscape of bored disdain: the mask he’d lost somewhere between Steve’s door and bed resurfacing. As Steve’s searching eyes regarded him, Tony was exquisitely aware of the cracks, how easy it would be for Steve to strip him of his last hiding place, leaving Tony laid bare.

“That’s always been something of a problem for you, hasn’t it, Temp. You never could keep your hands to yourself. But I’ll tell you what.” Tony stood. He tugged his sunglasses off, tossed them onto the table, and leveled a hard stare at the other man. “Touch him again and I’ll break you of the habit.”

“Easy, Tony.” Temp gestured to the occupied tables scattered around the restaurant’s patio. “You’re making a scene.”

“No. He’s not.” Steve rose from his seat. “But I will.”

“Gentlemen, you seem to have misconstrued my intent in--”

A petite woman, her hair pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, tentatively moved into the slip of space Tony had left between them and reached for Temp’s elbow. “Mr. Bainbridge? Our table is ready.” 

“Olivia. Excellent.” Pressing a proprietary hand against the base of her spine, Temp appraised Steve: the breadth of his chest and shoulders, the length of his arms, down the strong column of his legs. A flush climbed Temp’s throat and spread across his cheeks; the heat of it burning through his expanding pupils. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Steve. I hope to do so again. Perhaps when you find yourself in need of company you might look me up.”

“He’s out of your league, Temp,” Tony told him. “But go ahead. Hold your breath.”

“Mr. Bainbridge, we really should--”

“Yes, of course.” Offering her his arm, Temp lingered on Steve a moment longer before submitting to Olivia’s insistent pull. 

The constricting pressure twined like barbed wire around Tony’s lungs eased as Temp crossed the threshold into the lounge. He waited, watching as the man moved through the dark recesses of the dining room until he disappeared from view. Offering a wan smile to the politely curious couple at the next table, Tony dropped into his chair, his fist rubbing distracted circles on his chest.

“Tell me.”

Tony’s arm jerked, striking the glasses he’d forgotten about, pitching the metal rim into an empty glass; the resulting chime was a requiem, tolling the end of his reprieve. “This isn’t the time, Steve, or the place.”

“Do I need to list all of the things we’ve done that invalidate that argument? Tell me, Tony.”

“I--Seriously. Not here. We’ll go home. I’ll--You want details? You’ll have them.”

Tony threw several bills on the table; too much money for the coffee he had barely touched, Steve's water. 

“Tony.” Steve urged Tony’s face up with two fingers under his chin. “For now, confirm something for me: He hurt you?”

“It was a long time ago.” Tony pulled back. Steve followed, palming his cheek, restlessly stroking a thumb across the stubble that shaded the line above his beard. “It doesn’t mat--”

“Did he.” Steve’s rhythm faltered for a fraction of a second. “Hurt. You.”

Tony closed his eyes; he took a shallow breath that would only just support the weight of the words gathering in his mouth. “Steve, I consented.” Tony shook his head. “It wasn’t--”

“Did you say no?” Steve asked. “At any point did you tell him to stop?”

Anxiety lengthened the beat of Tony’s heart. He counted: one, one, one. On two, Tony nodded.

Grabbing Steve’s arm as he began to turn away, Tony said, “I don’t need you to--It’s not--He’s not worth it.”

Lifting Tony’s hand, Steve laid his lips over the uneasy pulse at his wrist. “You are.” A quick kiss, and Steve replaced Tony’s hand on the table. He moved before Tony could offer further protest; if he realized that Tony stood, followed, Steve didn’t waver from his path to stay him.

At a distance Tony heard Steve’s voice inquire, “Mr. Bainbridge, may I have a word?”

“Steve.” The note of approval in Temp’s tone set Tony’s teeth on edge. “I hope my presence earlier didn’t precipitate a break in relations between you and Tony. That would be...a shame.”

“A word?”

“Yes. Alright.” Temp slid from the booth. “Where would you like to have this word?”

“Just there.” Steve pointed to the narrow corridor that led to the men’s room. Addressing the small group assembled at the table, Steve promised, “He won’t be long.”

Maintaining a negligible distance, Tony stopped short as Temp, in the dim light of the corridor, tiptoed his fingers up Steve’s chest. “Does Tony know you’ve--”

Fisting the lapels of Temp’s suit jacket, Steve had him against the wall before he realized what had happened, the toes of his shoes scraping at the polished mosaic tiles lining the floor. Steve lowered his head, engaging Temp’s widened eyes. “If you so much as look at him again I will take you apart.”

“I don’t know what he told you, _Captain_ ,” Temp said, the tendons at his knuckles straining, blanching a stark white against Steve’s forearms. “But you must know how he is. I assure you, he want--”

Temp’s feet hovered a foot off the ground. “Your luck is holding on by a thread. One more word,” Steve warned him, “and I’ll sever it.”

“You won’t,” Temp insisted. “I’ll tell the media you threatened me. What--”

“Go ahead.” Steve smiled; the slant of it aggressive, baring his teeth. Tony had seen stronger men wilt under the leashed rage in that expression. “There is nothing in this world or the next I wouldn’t face for him. You should remember that.” Steve set Temp on the ground; he tugged roughly at the wrinkles his hold had pressed into the fine material of the jacket. “Because if there’s a next time, _Temp_ , I’ll do more than make you piss your expensive pants.”

Tony’s gaze skittered down to the darkening stain at the base of Templeton Bainbridge’s zipper. His smile a delighted mirror of Steve’s, Tony navigated the swaying crowd at the bar, retreating back to their abandoned table.

Steve found him there several minutes later.

“So,” Tony drawled. “Did you put the fear of Captain America in him?”

“I know you saw, Tony. And probably heard.”

Tony grinned. “I did? Yes. Okay. I admit it, but It was a thing of beauty, Steve. Really. Would have made Beethoven weep. If not for that whole deaf thing. Does that make any sense to you? I mean--”

“I need to...You said you’d tell me, Tony.”

The satisfaction Tony felt shattered like glass and cut at his stomach. “I did say that, which means, I guess, that our next stop is home. Come on then.”

Tony didn’t wait for Steve. He shoved the arms of the sunglasses over his ears, strands of hair wrapping around the bent temple tips, tugging at his scalp. He crossed to the driver’s side of the Acura idling at the curb. 

“Tony--”

“Get in.” Tony’s voice was clipped, curt, and the hurt on Steve’s face at hearing it was like a camera flash in his periphery vision: there and gone, but imprinted on his sight, multiplying with every blink. “I’m not--Just get in.”

“Alright,” Steve said softly. “I can do that.”

Merging into oncoming traffic, Tony tapped out a Morse code on the steering wheel. Sparing a glance at the volume control, he made a subtle gesture; insistent violins and cellos that pitched and soared, matching the wild, beating wing his heart had become, filled the car. He ignored the questioning twitch of Steve’s eyebrow and accelerated, driving the way he liked to fly: with skilled abandon. 

Steve covered his hand on the shifter, awkwardly lacing their fingers together.

Maneuvering into the underground garage, Tony braked hard, made a mental note to run diagnostics before taking the car back on the road. Steve climbed out, a graceful unfolding that was contrary to the size of him, and had the driver side door open before Tony could make good on the second and third and fourth thoughts he had about the viability of the discussion to come.

As the elevator ascended, Tony lamented the lack of piped-in music, the absence of some high-pitched sound signaling the passing of each and every floor, anything that might drown out the soundtrack accompanying the memory playing on a loop in his head: grunts of pain like gunshots, deafening for being the cause of them; a sharp set of cracks and the whisper of displaced silk as he bit down on the mattress, suppressing the shout building in his throat; a hoarse _no_ and _fucking listen to me_ and _I have to make it sto_ \--

“Take a deep breath.” A man’s voice: urgent and thick. “Come on, Tony.” Familiar. “For me?” Like air. The reactor. Necessary. “Please.”

Tony blinked Steve into focus, saw that he was kneeling a few feet away, and realized that he was crowded into the opposite corner, his knees half bent and his back bowed. Pushing up to his full height, Tony regulated the gasping pants that dried his mouth. “St-Steve? Why aren’t we moving?”

“You…You asked me to make it stop.” Steve stood slowly. “I thought you meant the elevator, but--“

“No, I--You can release the lock.” Tony glanced up at the number board above the doors. “Just a couple more floors.” He laughed: a discordant sound that echoed back at him. “I think I can manage it. Steve? I’m…sorry. About.” He poked his thumb at the corner. “That won’t happen again.”

“Obviously we need to work on recognizing appropriate times to apologize.” Steve shifted incrementally closer. “Can I?”

“Not just yet.” Tony licked his lips. “I was so stupid, Steve.”

“You weren’t. That’s not--But I was.” Steve shoved clenched fists into the pockets of the worn leather jacket he perpetually wore. “I shouldn’t have let him get off so--“

“This isn’t on you, love.” Absently rubbing the back of his neck, Tony said, “What you did was--Thank you. Seriously. But I could have handled that prick--“

“I know.”

A measure of the panic that pursued Tony like a long shadow thrown down by the sun receded at the conviction in Steve’s tone. He opened his mouth to respond, unsure of what might force its way out, when the elevator doors parted.

Stepping back to let them exit, Clint stopped before his heel hit the ground. His eyes narrowed on Tony’s face. “What happened?”

“An old acquaintance of mine ruined a perfectly good lunch. And that was before I got to finish my first cup of coffee.” Tony managed a weary smile. “You know I’m not prepared to deal with that kind of shit on little to no caffeine.”

“And this acquaintance.” Clint looked to Steve. “Did his lunch get ruined too?”

Steve hesitated. “It did.”

Clint hummed, rocking forward on his toes. “Guy got a name?”

“Most people do,” Tony said, waving his hand to hide the tremor. “Unless it’s a raised by wolves scenario. Though I suppose it’s possible--“

“Templeton Bainbridge.”

Tony gaped at Steve.

Clint nodded. “I’m gonna meet up with Thor and Natasha. Maybe grab a bite. See you.” Striding into the elevator, Clint punched a button on the panel. As the doors closed, he offered a strict salute.

“What was that?” Tony asked. “Did you just give him permis--“

“Can you remember the last time Clint required permission to do anything?” Steve glanced over his shoulder as they walked down the hall. “He’s kind of like you that way.”

“Are you trying to get shot? Because comparing Barton to--”

“He sees it. That’s why he likes you so much. What?” he asked, noting Tony’s incredulous expression. “He does.” Steve paused in front of their bedroom door. “If you can’t do this, we won’t.”

“You’d just--“ 

“Yes.”

“And that,” Tony said, reaching around Steve to turn the knob, “is why I have to. We’ll treat it like a band-aid. I’ll rip it off. You’ll listen to me curse. And we’ll both feel better when it’s over. Sound good?”

“Not exactly.” Steve followed Tony into the room. “No.”

“This is a take it or leave it offer, Steve. Just promise me you’ll--“ Tony caught the plea and sealed it behind the firm press of his lips. “It was years ago. I told you that, right? We met at--It doesn’t matter. It was obvious? That we moved in the same circles? I think Temp approached me. He was attractive. I thought so at the time.” Tony pointed at Steve. “Then comes you.” Redefining everything Tony knew about attraction and appeal and bone deep desire. “Believe it or not, back then, a man allergic to strings was a man after my own damaged heart. It seemed like we’d be a good fit for however long it lasted. And it was. A good fit. Until it wasn’t.”

Yanking at the knot in his tie, Tony pulled until it hung like a slack noose around his throat. “This is--” he tore the tie over his head and tossed it out of sight “--better. Where was I?”

Steve’s Adam’s apple shoved up roughly. “Until it wasn’t.”

“Right. That last night. It started…” With a kiss. Teeth on Tony’s lips, tongue. Blood like a paper cut: easy to ignore. A hand in his hair; fingers like thorns, refusing to release without a sacrifice. “Fine? He was maybe a little rougher than usual. I figured he had a bad day. Stress. I tried to tease - goad, whatever - him out of it. Sex doesn’t have to be--Because you and me, we’ve laughed, right? After. During.” Massaging his temple, Tony admitted, “It was never like that, not with--“

Tony thought Steve made a noise, but couldn’t concentrate for the way his collar stood stiff against his neck, absorbing the sweat that also gathered in his clavicle, on his palms. “I was with him. Right up until he—“ Tony swallowed convulsively. “You know the mechanics; no reason to go there. And anyway, he fractured my wrist. Broke two fingers.” He gazed down at his hand. Ink had stained the pad of his index finger that night too. “I think I blacked out. For maybe a second? Couldn’t have been much longer, because he was still going at it--” Another laugh: colder still. “And Temp wasn’t exactly known for his stamina. But you, ah, asked me if I told him to stop. I did, and added a get the fuck off of me to be clear. Know what he said?” Tony fumbled to get his jacket off. “That I didn’t get a fucking say in the matter.”

“Tony. That’s eno—“

“He was right, you know.” That time there was no mistaking the growl; Tony wondered if Steve realized how it rolled, like thunder trapped in the room. “No. Not about that. Though my track record,” he reasoned, “makes it hard to argue against even that point. Have I told you about the cave? It shouldn’t have been--” So cold. Like Obie’s taunts and Temp’s breath on his back. “I didn’t stay. I didn’t beat the shit out of him. I limped back to the workshop. Locked it down. I didn’t want Pepper to see the bruises. The tape on my fingers.” Tony cleared his throat. “She still doesn’t know. Rhodey, maybe; he might have figured it out. And now you. I didn’t want you to--”

“Why?” Steve asked. “I--”

“What good does it do you, Steve? Knowing that?” Tony asked, unable to keep the words from grating harshly. “I didn’t want you to have to live with another one of my nightmares. It’s better you know this: I didn’t bottom for anyone after--Not until you. Our first night together. And you did the only thing I needed you to. Without realizing it.”

“I--What did I do?”

Tony looked into eyes like the horizon: a blue so deep, so open, it seemed endless; emotion like clouds, chasing across the surface. “You,” Tony told him, “proved there was one person I could trust with more than my life.”

A storm rolled in as Tony watched: love like lightning, lighting the dark of Steve’s blown pupils.

“And I realized that Temp…it’s--He’s not like the shrapnel. Well, he is. Because I can’t dig the memory out. But I can live with it. Like everything else.” The flare of anger that guttered in his stomach at Steve’s cautious approach caught Tony off-guard. “I told you I was ready, Steve, and I damn well meant it.”

“I have never doubted that. I’ve never doubted _you_.” Steve stood in front of him. “I need you to touch me. Will you?”

Moving into Steve, the glow from the reactor snuffed between them, Tony lifted his chin until his lips brushed the soft, generous curve of Steve’s. Sighing when their tongues met, warm and demanding, Tony swallowed Steve’s hushed moan. He felt Steve’s hands rise, wait. Tony brought his own up, his fingers finding the top button of Steve’s shirt, slipping it loose. 

Steve gripped Tony’s elbows. “Tony,” he whispered. “We don’t have to--”

Tony stilled. “Why? You don’t want--”

“I do. You know I do.” Steve cut off Tony’s retreat. “I’ve wanted nothing but you for so long. I just--”

“I trust you. Remember?” Tony thumbed a button free. And another. He pulled the shirt from Steve’s pants and parted the material like a curtain, revealing taut skin, the heat of it burning Tony’s palms. “We’ll go slow. I’ll kiss every inch of you to make sure I can handle it.”

“We’ll stop if--”

“Steve.” Tony set his mouth on Steve’s shoulder, worrying the spot, worshiping the fading mark with a kiss. “I already had my breakdown. And I only ever allow myself the one. We won’t be stopping.”

Steve’s eyes roamed Tony’s face as he backed him towards the bed, following him down when the bend of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, rolling so that Tony lay stretched along the length of him. “Every inch, huh? That might take a while. When were you planning on--Oh.”

Raking his nails down Steve’s chest, Tony followed the path with his lips, his breath feverish on Steve’s flushed skin, the taste of the man beneath him imprinted on his tongue. “Have I told you?” Tony tugged on Steve’s belt, the button on his pants, easing the zipper down to curl his fingers around Steve’s cock. He looked up the strong line of Steve’s body. “I love you.”

Steve shook, his lips parting, but Tony dropped his head, took him in his mouth, turning words into breath that came harder, faster, with each hum and glide from Tony. 

“I don’t.” Steve’s hands tightened in Tony’s hair and released in the time it took his heart to beat. His fingers ghosted down Tony’s throat, lingered on the flex of muscle as Tony moved on him; Steve thrust up once, and then he was pulling Tony away. “That’s not how I want to come.”

Tony eased back, slid off the bed, and shed the rest of his clothes. He pulled at Steve’s pants, watched his hips rise from the mattress so the material could slide free, his stomach tightening with a want so fierce, Tony knew there could never be another. When Steve reached for him, Tony went, settling astride him, down into the safe harbor of Steve’s arms.

“You...earlier, you called me the love of your life,” Steve said, drawing a feather-light line down Tony’s spine. “I thought--You’ve never--Say it again.”

“I.” Tony found the bottle of lube where they’d left it the night before: under his pillow. He pressed it into Steve’s hand. “Love you.”

Coating his fingers, Steve set the bottle aside, brought his hand down between their bodies, his spread legs. He teased himself open with one finger. Added another. “Again.”

“Steve, what are you--I don’t need to be--”

“Not doing this for you. I want you in-inside of me.” Steve’s breath hitched as he added a third finger. “Tell me. Please.”

“I love you.” Tony sat back on his heels and drew Steve’s hand away, twining their fingers, pinning Steve’s arm above his head. “I have since--I don’t know. How do you? When it feels like forever? Because there’s only you, Steve. There’s only ever been you.”

Steve closed his eyes as a tremor rocked him. He kept them closed as Tony leaned in, kissed his jaw, his lips, slowly pressing inside until Steve had taken all of him. “Look at me, love.”

“I will.” Steve clenched around him. “Give me a minute.”

Tony bit back a groan. “Take what you need.”

Heavy-lidded eyes opened. “That would be you. But right now,” Steve said, his hips restlessly rocking, “I’d like you to move.”

Tony pulled out. “Anything you want.” And drove back in. “Anything.”

He set a steady rhythm; long strokes that quickened sooner than he would have liked. Wrapping his fingers around Steve’s cock, Tony kept time with his sharp thrusts, tightening his grip as he felt Steve begin to shudder. “Harder?” 

Steve nodded “Yes.” Rolled his hips. “Yes. I’m--”

An arm around his back, Tony pulled Steve up, flush against his chest. “You are so fucking gorgeous,” he said, riveted on Steve’s face. “I can’t believe--” Steve caught his mouth in a desperate kiss.

When Steve’s orgasm broke, Tony’s name was a ragged exhalation of air against his lips; a breath to replace the one Steve took from him. The wrecked sound pitched Tony over the edge, forcing a choked moan from his throat as he came.

Steve held him close. “Stay.”

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

“Good,” Steve said. “Because I love you too. But you already knew that.”

“Yup.” Yawning, Tony said, “But, yeah, you keep telling me. And I’ll say it again. And again. Deal?”

Lying back on the bed, Steve took Tony with him, shifting until his dark head settled into the curve of his shoulder. “Deal.”


	2. Grabbing a Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just realized there's a bit of a spoiler for the movie in this 2nd chapter. Otherwise, it ignores (more like denies) a key event that transpires in it.

“Got it.” Poised to disconnect the call, Clint hesitated when Coulson spoke up. “Seriously? Why--Would you believe I’m fresh out of We’re Going to Fuck Your Shit Up and You’re Not Going to Sue Us forms? Besides, I would’ve had to fold it. You know how you get about creases-“ Clint pulled the slim, Stark issued tech from his ear. “He hung up.”

“Imagine that.” Natasha ignored the side mirrors and cut into traffic. “Address?”

Spinning the phone on his palm, Clint held it out for her to see the coordinates that lit the display. “That would be his office.”

She spared it a glance. “Did Tony tell you?” The leather covering the steering wheel protested her grip with a low scrape of sound. “What Bainbridge--“

“Tash.” Clint tried for a level, steady tone and mostly succeeded. “I...Didn’t need details.” 

Because he knew.

He knew what it felt like when a memory became a garrote; how it took everything you had to breathe around the pressure. In that second after the elevator doors parted, Clint noted the strain that bled Tony’s face of color; the sweat that darkened the hair at his forehead and temple; the conscious effort he put into holding his spine straight, denying the instinct that would have him bow to remembered pain. After Nat broke Loki’s control over him, Clint had seen the same symptoms manifest in every mirror he passed. In Tony’s case, he’d lay odds on what went down between him and Bainbridge being far more personal, intimate. Another scar for Tony’s collection. And Steve: when Tony’s focus had shifted to Clint, anguish, like a struck match, caught and burned in his eyes. Bainbridge had a hand in putting it there. That was strike two.

Clint had taken men down for less.

“So we’re clear,” he said, meeting Thor’s eyes in the rearview mirror, “I get first crack at him.”

Thor responded with a clipped nod.

“This is it.” Natasha braked in front of a glass-walled high rise. “Gentlemen. After you.”

They drew stares from three piece suits as they moved through the lobby. Clint left the security guard to Thor, who glared the barrel-chested man back into his seat when he rose to confront them, and veered toward the bank of elevators.

Natasha leaned across Clint to press the call button. “Is it just me, or is he-” she jerked her head back to indicate where Thor stood, his arms crossed, his mouth a compressed line “-being uncharacteristically quiet?”

“S’not you. And frankly? It’s freaking me out.” Clint followed Natasha into the mirrored elevator car and hitched his boot up on the back wall. “You okay, big guy?”

“I will be,” Thor answered, a muscle shifting furiously in his jaw.

A cheery trill announced their floor. Clint shoved through the retracting doors, past a gawking receptionist, and strode down the corridor. Natasha and Thor flanking him, he pounded on a heavy, ornately carved slab of mahogany.

A tall man, dark hair in artful disarray, yanked it open.

“Templeton Bainbridge?”

“Yes.” His lip curled. “What the fuck do you--”

Thor’s fist was a blur in Clint’s peripheral vision.

Bainbridge staggered and fell. Sprawled across the hardwood floor like a confused blow-up doll, he blinked up at them. 

“What the hell, Thor?” Clint caught the unrepentant edge of the god’s smile. “We agreed: I got to throw the first punch.”

“And so you shall.” Thor crossed over the threshold. “That was hardly a punch.”

Bainbridge mopped at the blood leaking from his nose with a starched shirt cuff. “Not a--”

“If he hadn’t pulled it,” Natasha said, shutting the door behind Clint, “you’d be in a coma.”

“Who the--Thor, you said?” Bainbridge notched his chin at Clint. “Hawkeye, I presume.” Through the rapid swelling of one eye, he leered at Natasha. “And Black Widow. I’ve only just today started my Avengers collection, but it would seem it’s already nearly complete.”

“Yeah, well, Hulk wanted to come. We did you a favor; talked him out of it.” Clint stood over Bainbridge’s prone form. “And Cap--You remember Steve? Tall, blond, and scary as fuck if you piss him off?” Clint nudged one black wool clad leg with his toe. “Weren't you wearing gray pants earlier?” He grinned at Natasha whose lips twitched imperceptibly in reply. “Anyway. Steve would be here except I’m pretty sure he and Tony were having sex when I left. That can take hours.”

“Days,” Natasha said. “If last week is any indication of their stamina.”

“And we’re not exactly known for our patience.” Watching Bainbridge push up from his sprawl, his wrist shaking with the effort, Clint flashed on Tony: the way he’d cradled _his_ wrist, two fingers held stiff against his stomach as Steve supplied the name he’d asked for. “Where are my manners? You could use a chair.” Advancing into the room, Clint ground his boot down on the man’s splayed fingers. A sharp cry followed him behind Bainbridge’s oversized desk. “It’ll be a bitch to get blood out of the leather, but you can tack it onto this afternoon’s dry cleaning bill, right? Thor? Give him a hand up.”

Sinking to his haunches, Thor covered Bainbridge’s throat with a hand hooked under his jaw. “I’ll do one better than that.” He shoved to his feet; matte black Wingtips kicked at empty air as Bainbridge clung to Thor’s biceps. “You do not look well. Perhaps I should assist you to your seat.”

“Just set him down here, nice and-“ Clint let go as Thor slammed the man into the chair, let it tip back, momentum carrying Bainbridge ass over elbow to the floor “-easy. Just like that.”

“You’ve had your fun, boys.” As Clint righted the chair, Natasha gripped Bainbridge’s elbow and pulled him up. “Let me help.” Burying her fist in his gut, she allowed him a moment to gasp for breath, doubled over and clutching his stomach. “Almost there.” She kicked the back of each knee, shoving him down when his legs gave, applying pressure to a nerve between shoulder and neck that wrenched a keening whine from the man’s pursed lips. “There we go.”

“This--“ Bainbridge wheezed, glaring up at her. “You’re doing this why? For th-that bastard Stark?”

“You don’t get to call him names. That’s a privilege reserved for family,” Clint said, circling the chair. “But, yeah. We’re here because of that _bastard_.”

“I’ve known others like you.” Natasha regarded Bainbridge with narrowed eyes. “They preferred what they perceived to be easy prey as well. That’s why you went for him. He was alone. Isolated. You made the mistake of thinking he was vulnerable. That you could break him. But you didn’t. Couldn’t. And,” she concluded, “he’s not alone now. Obviously.” 

“Nor will he be again,” Thor said. “From this day forward, you’ll keep your distance--”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Bainbridge arched his brow. “After all, Tony was a lousy fuck--”

Clint caught the prominent line of Bainbridge’s cheekbone with his knuckles, splitting skin, snapping his head back.

Bainbridge licked at the blood that seeped onto his lips. “--and while I typically enjoy hearing my partners beg, he was just pathet--”

Thor snarled.

“What is it with rich men and death wishes?” Planting his foot on the thickly padded seat, the curved toe of his boot snug against Bainbridge’s crotch, Clint leaned into the man’s space. “Keep talking, Templeton. I’ll enjoy taking--”

“What?” Bainbridge swallowed, cutting his eyes to where Clint’s foot pressed forward. “You’re not going to kill me. I have every intention of taking my story to the media. Lay another hand on me and it will only serve to win more sympathy to my side.”

“See, I don’t think so,” Clint said. “But we’ll address that issue later. Right now, while you’re still conscious, I want to go over a few things. First, there’s a matter of recompense. There’s this foundation that Stark set-up. You are going to donate a shit ton of money to it, and you’re going to make sure that not a dime - not a penny - can be traced back to you.”

“And I am going to do that because--”

“The foundation helps people in need? Keeps the Avengers supplied with new toys? Because you don’t have a choice?” Clint shrugged. “Take your pick. Next--” He cocked his head, slanted a glance at Thor. “There’s someone at the door.”

“I’ll go,” Thor said. “See to it that we are not disturbed again.”

“I’ll do it.” Clint clapped Thor on the shoulder and straightened. “Take my place, big guy. You might want to spread your legs wider, Bainbridge,” he suggested. “Widow, keep the ball rolling.”

Natasha took Bainbridge’s jaw in hand, forcing it up until he choked on a pained whimper. “Now,” she began, “listen up.”

Clint opened the door. “I’m sorry. Mr. Bainbridge is about to be tied--Coulson?”

Coulson held up a sheet of paper. Not a crease in sight. “The form.” He looked past Clint to where Natasha was flicking tears from Bainbridge’s cheek with the sharp side of a knife. “And I’d like in on this. If I’m not too late.”

“Late?” Clint let the agent step past him into the room. “We’re just getting started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may or may not be an additional scene as this doesn’t quite feel...done. Regardless, thanks for reading what turned out to be harder to write than I imagined it could be. 
> 
> [Also, prompts please! For other stories or what have you. (If you wouldn’t mind?) I’m feeling a little adrift here.]

**Author's Note:**

> If there's interest in a short fic revolving around Clint, Natasha and Thor grabbing a "bite" (or maybe the aftermath of it), I might be more than willing to oblige. Thoughts?


End file.
